Frequency
by artistic mishap
Summary: Shepard has a question for Liara. The answer is not what she expected. Companion to "Forfeit".


_I wrote this for CyanB, who requested it oh so nicely. Once the idea was planted, I knew I had to write it._

_And yes, I did write this in a few hours, instead of doing work. Excuse me while I go back to being a responsible adult…_

* * *

_**Frequency **_

Shepard considers herself a fairly straightforward individual. Get the job done, try to limit the casualties, profit. She's not going to sit there and lie, saying that this war isn't taking its toll on her. She feels every death, every planet lost, like a whip across her back. She's going to be down to the bone soon, down the grittiest parts of her, but that's okay. It's only ever when she's at that point that she makes miracles. She's not too humble to deny this last. It happened on Elysium, on the Citadel, on the Collector base, and it's going to happen on Earth, damnit, even if she has to crawl her way to the finish line.

What she means is, she's a realist. She knows her duty, and she's going to fulfill it. Growing up as an army brat made sure of that. She's always been more comfortable in fatigues and combat boots than in skirts and dresses – more at home with a gun in her hands than gardening tools, or paints, or anything, really.

So when the question lodges in her mind – not for the first time, but for the first time in a while, at least – she tries to shove it away. But the little bugger sticks fast, like gum on the sole of a shoe, or omni-gel on her combat greaves back when that was still a viable way to open locks. It floats behind her like some ghost while she tries to write her reports, while she watches those few newsfeeds that are filtering in from Earth, and especially while she lays awake at night, attempting to force herself to sleep, her limbs tangled over Garrus' hard body. (That last one is pretty embarrassing, and definitely not something that she'd ever tell her lover, thanks.)

The question is: _who is my father?_

It's such a clichéd question, and Shepard has built her life on breaking clichés. Hell, she even came back from the dead, and apart from some old religious stories, she's in a group of one on that count. And yeah, so maybe one of her favourite musicals does deal with this very issue, and involves catchy pop songs that nobody – and she means nobody – will ever know she's memorized the words to, but that's fantasy, and this is her life, and fantasy it is not.

She's going to blame it on stress, the fact that she's standing outside Liara's room, wringing her hands. She is not this person. She isn't going to let herself be defined by her father – or lack thereof. She's not going to let her entire life and all her accomplishments be invalidated by the fact that one man didn't stick around to raise her. There have been plenty of others – COs on her mom's ships growing up, Anderson, and most importantly, her fantastic, tough-as-nails mother – so why does this question keep looming over her?

If people ask, she says she doesn't remember her father, and that's mostly true. She thinks she remembers a beach trip, once, and the feeling of sand between her toes, and the crash of the surf into her face before being scooped up by strong arms. Then there were the knees, totally bare, vaguely knobbly, and how she clung to them and could smell the brine of the ocean on their skin. She remembers tears, tears and outstretched arms, and calling for someone that never came back.

All her mom has to say on the issue is, "Trust me, it was for the best."

Which, Shepard thinks, means diddly squat. _The best_ can mean a helluva lot. The Illusive Man made a career on doing things that were _for the best_ and that doesn't stop him from being the single most fucking psychopathic person she's ever met.

She taps on Liara's door, and hearing the _come in_, she hits the interface and saunters in. Liara looks up with wide eyes, and Shepard wonders – not for the first time – how Liara can always look so damn innocent despite being over three times older than herself. Shepard isn't sure if she ever managed the innocent look. Her mom certainly never fell for the act.

"Shepard," says Liara with a smile, and tired though it is, the genuine burst of feeling makes Shepard smile in return. "What can I do for you?"

That's a good question. Shepard hesitates, running her fingers along the edges of Liara's consoles, her face contorted into a frown. She takes a deep breath, ready to ask, but at the last second falters, bringing her hand to her mouth to chew on her thumbnail. Liara, bless her, she stands there like this is totally normal for her Commander and waits.

"I," says Shepard, and lets out a frustrated sigh. She drags the back of her hand across her forehead before dropping both hands to her hips. Even with her eyes turned downward, she can feel Liara's vaguely concerned expression boring into her. She licks her lips. "I have to ask a favour."

Frowning slightly, Liara stands. "Anything, Shepard."

Shepard has a surge of affection for the asari, but that doesn't make asking any easier. "You can look up pretty much anything as the Shadow Broker, right?"

Now Liara's frown becomes more pronounced. "Well, there are limits to even my intel, but yes, within reason."

"Can you – can you find out who my father is?" asks Shepard, and anxiety curls up in the pit of her stomach.

Liara's expression turns understanding, and Shepard remembers that it wasn't too long ago that her friend met her, well, father for the first time. Despite whatever initial reservations Liara had, the relationship grew and Liara didn't appear to regret it in the least. So she, maybe most of all, understands what Shepard is asking.

"Are you sure you want to know?" inquires Liara, wringing her hands

Is she? Hell no. Maybe this isn't even important at all. She's made it this far without knowing.

But Shepard knows, knows in her gut that there's a good chance that she's not walking away from this. That none of them are. That in a few years, everyone on this ship could be dead. And she's going to fight like hell to make sure that doesn't happen, but she's only one person. And who knows? He could already be dead, whoever he is. He could be indoctrinated. He could be melted down into a new Reaper.

She wants to decline on pure stubbornness. She wants to be her own person, without genes weighing her down. Still, though, even though the jury was still out on the topic of nature versus nurture, some man out there helped make her. Someone out there gave her up.

"Yeah," she says, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I'm sure."

Liara moves to her keyboard, her fingers flying over the keys. A file pops up on one of the monitors, and Shepard sees her name at the top. With one hand on the back of Liara's chair, Shepard leans over her friend's shoulder and starts to read. She gets only a few sentences in when her heart stops and she pushes away.

"Shepard…" says Liara.

"Is that accurate?" demands Shepard.

All Liara can do is nod. She moves forward, hand outstretched in comfort, but Shepard shies away. She covers her face with her hands and breathes deeply. How can that be? How could nobody have told her? How could her mom keep this a secret? How could Hackett?

And even while her rational brain, the part that usually governs her soldiering, is explaining things to her, is thinking up a million reasons why, all she can think is, _I've been reporting to him for years_. Years of her life, she was face to face with a man she could only remember by his knees, and for years, he said nothing.

If only she'd ever seen him in shorts, she muses.

Then she decides it's ironic, is what it is. Years ago, she'd approached Captain – now Admiral, she reminds herself – Anderson, Shepard had a moment of courage. Anderson was always there for her, always took her side, always believed in her when nobody else did. It was just after the battle of the Citadel, and she'd gone to his swanky new office. He looked as out of place in his business attire as she felt in his office, but still, she'd mustered herself and asked him, flat out, if he was her father. Hannah had always intimated that her father was military, even if she never said so explicitly, and so it made sense, didn't it?

Only, with infinite kindness, he placed his hands her shoulders and said, "Shepard, no, I'm not."

She nodded, and she was pleased that she managed to keep her face blank. What he said next almost undid her though.

"But I would be honoured to have you as a daughter," he added, with a soft smile. "Privileged."

And that, that had meant everything. That was the moment when she decided, whoever he was, she didn't need him. There was no gap in her life that needed filling. She was fine owning her accomplishments, and fine with the family she chose for herself.

Shepard forces herself to think back. Hackett was there when she got her the Star of Terra. He was there at the celebration after the battle of the Citadel, ready to shake her hand, to clap her on the shoulder and tell her she'd done the Alliance proud. In hindsight, can she read a little _you made me proud_ into the tone of his words? And that would explain how he refused to have her court martialed after her resurrection…

"Are you all right?" asks Liara.

"I don't know," says Shepard, and is annoyed to hear her voice quaver slightly. "Maybe don't mention this to anyone, okay?"

Liara opens her mouth to say something, but that's interrupted by EDI announcing that they've reached Rannoch. Shepard pulls Liara into a hug and leaves without saying a word, going to gear up and kill herself a Reaper.

And she does just that. But the revelation from earlier hangs over her as she wraps her arms around Garrus in the main battery, his face buried into the crook of her neck, telling her that she was _stupid_ and _reckless_ and _never do that again_ but _spirits, you were amazing_ and _why did I have to fall in love with the craziest woman in the galaxy?_

"Just lucky, I guess," she says, running her cheek against the side of his head. He holds her closer, and it's almost painful but she can't find it in her to care, especially not when EDI announces that Hackett is available in the comm room. Shepard's arms wrap tighter around Garrus, and she knows she's putting it off, knows she's wondering what the hell she's going to say, and is she going to say anything and oh god, now everything is different.

Garrus pulls back and presses his forehead to hers. "Something wrong?"

"I just defeated a damn Reaper and now I'm in the arms of the sexiest man on the ship," she says, giving him a peck. "What could be wrong?"

He does this strange turian thing that's almost like a purr, and Shepard knows he's content. "Don't tell Vega that thing about me being the sexiest. Might hurt his feelings." Garrus pauses. "No, I take that back. Let him know. In detail. His ego needs to be brought down a few pegs."

Shepard smiles and extricates herself, and the second she's out of the battery, she's running through every possible scenario. They're in the middle of the war, after all, and maybe now isn't the best time to be talking these things through – but if not now, when? She reaches the comm room far faster than she would've liked, and then all of the sudden, Hackett is there just like the dozens of times before, only it's not like that at all.

"Commander, something on your mind?" he asks, his tone all business.

"Sir, if I may," she says, trying her hardest to remain calm, "I have a personal question." Her heartbeat counts down the seconds until his answer.

"Speak freely, Commander."

She chokes. The question is right on her lips, but she chokes. Because he's still Hackett. He's still professional. He's still her CO. So she asks instead, "Why me? Why put me in charge of all this?"

Shepard would be lying if she said she wasn't hoping for some revelation about fostering her career on his part, and she'd also be lying if she said that the aforementioned revelation wouldn't piss her the hell off. Nepotism doesn't pay. Just ask the Primarch of Palaven.

But he doesn't give her the pleasure of anger. In fact, he doesn't mention their shared blood at all. He discusses her record, her ability to lead – in sort, he discusses all the things she already knows about herself. She pays attention, however, for the first time really, to the _way _he says them, and she's not imagining it, can't be imagining it – there's definitely pride there. He hides it well, under a veneer of professionalism, but it's there if you know where to look.

The conversation is coming to a close when Hackett adds, "And Shepard, I thought you might like to know I have word on your mother."

Shepard blinks, and for a moment all she can think of his her beautiful mother, impaled on a dragon's tooth, or worse, melted down into sludge to feed a baby Reaper. "Oh?" she says, faintly.

"She's alive and well and been promoted to Rear Admiral. She's helping us with logistics on the Crucible project."

The air vents back into the room and Shepard takes a deep breath. "Thank you Admiral, that's good to hear."

There's a smile in his voice that doesn't quite make it to his face. "I figured having another Shepard around couldn't hurt and she's damn proud of what you're doing out there." The lines around Hackett's eyes magnify for a moment, and Shepard wills herself not to lean in, not to wait for what comes next, and she's glad she does, because he finishes with, "Hackett out."

It was subtle. If she hadn't been looking for it, she wouldn't have noticed it. If she hadn't known it was absolutely the truth, she might even have written herself off as grasping for straws. But it is true, and those signs, they were there. And maybe, maybe she really is too much his daughter, because she's pretty sure that all those reasons she mentioned – it being the war, people counting on them, the whole shebang – she's sure that's reason he's holding back. Hackett always has a reason for everything he does. He's the most intuitive strategist the Alliance has… Followed closely, she's been told by Anderson on numerous occasions, by herself.

Her hands grip the railing and she hangs her head, breathing slowly in and out. It's not the time to pursue this, not the time to rile things up. And this information, were it revealed now, could shed doubt on her and her mission. People get desperate for a witch hunt when society collapses, and, well, it doesn't get much worse than this.

But, she tells herself, when this is over and provided they both survive, they're going to have a talk. Father to daughter.


End file.
